The Unfortunate Events of an Insane Love
by NEOmi-triX
Summary: A detailed look on the tragedy of Fred and his lover, Barbara...
1. Part 1

_**Author's Note:**_

**Get the full story of Fred's love life and it's tragic end.**

**Freaky Fred, Barbara, and _Courage: The Cowardly Dog_ all belong to John R. Dilworth and Cartoon network. I drew the cover. I made up the story completely, but I used facts revealed in the episode "Freaky Fred."**

(remember, the real good stuff is in Part 2, so don't forget to read that!)

also, please see the rest of this story! Yes, I continued it for a bit! :)

It's called "The Consequences of That Insane Love."

* * *

_Part One_

I haven't shaved a head in quite a while. My barber shop nowadays is far from naughty, and I'm almost happy to say it. I've even gotten some sleep in at nights. I've not forgotten the voices, though, far from it. In fact, they scream at me, louder each day. But... I'm good at controlling it now. If someone walks in for a trim, they walk out with one. I can't tell if I feel happy, but I'm not sad. It's quite the boring lifestyle, I suppose, but I humor the far away part of me that likes it, and do my best to stick with it.

It's a quiet day at the shop. Presently, the bell on my shop door chimes and I look to behold _quite_ the head of deliciously lengthy blonde hair, in swinging braids. It belongs to a young lady, though she's not much younger than myself. She has a pretty face, and enormous blue eyes that captivate me almost as much as her head.

_Cut it away..._

"Hello," she says shyly.

"My dear," I reply, grinning. "Please, sit down." I spin my only chair until the empty seat faces her, and present it to her with one hand on the back of it and the other outstretched. Her delicate hand holds my thin one, and she lifts herself to sit. Her dress puffs out as she does so, and it floats down over her knees. I slowly turn the chair towards the counter on the wall, until she faces herself in the dirty mirror mounted above it.

"And what would be your name, darling?" I gently fit a frock around her thin neck and it falls past her shoulders.

"Barbara," she says, and her cheeks turn pink. She avoids looking at my eyes through the mirror as I stand behind her. I prefer it that way; she won't see that I'm so captivated by her lovely, golden hair.

_Cut it away..._

"And what can I do for you this evening, Barbara?"

"Just a trim, please."

With her consent, I carefully unwind her perfect braids. When I finish, her wavy locks dangle below the seat of the chair. Tentatively, I run my fingers down the back of her head to feel her glossy hair. I tighten my jaw, trying to somehow resist the impulse that washes over me.

_Cut it away... Cut it away..._

_ ...No._

I reach for the drawer underneath the counter. I can see Barbara watching my hand sub-consciously. I slide the drawer open, and my hand slowly passes over my red electric razor. My fingers twitch longingly, but I reach father and take the scissors, fitting my fingers through the small handles. As I pull my hand away, Barbara's blue eyes flicker back and stare at themselves in the mirror.

I realise her hair is long enough I must raise the chair to be able to cut properly. I do so, pumping the lever under the chair with my foot. Finally I can see the beautiful, stringy, split-ends dancing at the end of her golden locks.

_Cut it away!_

My barber shop doesn't have the luxury of a sink, so I must use a spray bottle filled with water to dampen hair for a trim. I take it from the left side of the counter and spray just the bottoms of her hair, until the split-ends are pleasantly dripping with nervous, dry water. I feel _myself_ dripping—a slight perspiration on the back of my neck. I dab myself with a handkerchief from my pocket.

"...Now, _just_ a trim, my dear?"

"Yes, please."

_Cut it away..._

"Very well, then," I say after a brief moment. Another moment passes. The voices are begging...

"Might I say, miss Barbara, your hair is quite astonishingly beautiful..."

"Why, thank you, sir."

"Please. Call me Fred."

Her eyes finally meet mine in the mirror and I show her a friendly smile. 'What a gorgeous blue,' I think to myself.

I finish trimming, finally, after what seemed like endless torment from the voices.

Barbara blinks her sweet eyes and says good-bye. The tufts of hair she left are laying scattered on the floor in a beautiful array. The frock hangs lifeless from the back of the chair. The bell on the door klinks as she leaves, empty.


	2. Part 2

_Part Two_

My shop is small, but it has an upstairs, and that's where I live. There's a window, with the blinds always shut so I can be private from the little town outside. My modest bed is positioned underneath it, so that I may peer out through the plastic strips and watch the bright moon climb and drop every night. Also, in the very bottom corner of the window from a certain angle, I can see my barber pole's bright colors shine in the dim lamp light.

As time passes, Barbara becomes a regular at my shop. In our small talk, I refrain from telling her much about myself, and ask questions instead. I learn that she has just moved into town from Denmark, although she learned English early on from her English mother. She lives with her mother and father in a house they just bought at the edge of town. She says she wishes she could move out, she's quite old enough, but it's not yet convenient for her. I tell her that I'll give her a warm welcome from England, if no one else will, and I invite her to visit my barber shop whenever she desires, and bring her lovely braids with her.

I needn't go on extensively, but several months pass and Barbara and I become very close. In fact, we spend most days together, when I'm not working. When I am, she sits in my shop and waits patiently for me. The nights go by much sweeter for me now, and the impulses and voices in my mind are beginning to whisper more quietly. I'm starting to feel happy, now that I'm with her... and even, though I almost wish I could deny it... loved.

Now we come to tragic part of my story...

I'm asleep in my dreary bed. Well, I shouldn't say 'asleep,' but I assume that at this hour the rest of the town should be. Actually, I'm sitting up, watching the white moon through the blinds; it grins over the dark town. The stars floating around it glisten happily. My mind is full of thoughts of dear, sweet Barbara. At just this time, my eyes flicker down, and I behold the real Barbara, standing in a night gown on the street below, knocking at my shop door!

I jump out of bed, in my pyjamas as well, and scurry down the stairs to the shop. I see Barbara's fair, delicate face peering from the darkness through the glass. Her unbraided hair is a wild, beautiful, golden mess, illuminated by the lamp outside. But... I spot glistening tears on her distressed face! I dart to the door, alarmed, and unlock it quickly. As soon as it opens, and the bell rings out in the dark, quiet air, Barbara rushes into my arms. I tenderly caress her unkempt hair.

_Cut it away..._

"My dear, tell me, what ever is the matter?" I ask.

"Oh, darling Fred," she moans, weeping as I embrace her. "I... I mustn't say..."

"Come here, Barbara, come inside where it's warm." I close the door behind her and the bell jingles hollowly again.

I guide my frazzled Barbara to the chair, except this time, I'm the one to sit. She crumples into a ball on my thin lap.

_Cut it away..._

"Now won't you tell me, sweet Barbara?"

"Yes, I shall," she breathes quickly and stares up at me with wet blue eyes, swimming like two round oceans in her head. "My mother, my father... oh, Fred, I can't stand them! they said awful things about you!"

About... me?

"They tell me lies," she continues, "lies about how you are a dangerous escapee from an asylum in the next city. They say to stay away, but I won't have it! Tell me it isn't true, Fred!"

I understand enough of her frantic speech to make me feel a bit light-headed. She must know—she must already know the truth... I'm sure she knows her parents are correct... How _they_ know this, I'm not sure, and don't particularly care.

_She mocks you..._

"Fred?" she stares into my eyes, still sitting oh so daintily in my lap. That's when I realise I've been staring into space.

I clear my throat.

"You... don't believe them...?"

"Of course not, my love!"

_Cut it away, please, now, now..._

"My darling," I say carefully. "Let me hold you tonight, let yourself fall asleep in the safety of my arms. When you wake, you will be rested in my bed, and I will be waiting for you downstairs."

"Oh yes, Fred, I'm quite tired, and you comfort me."

I continue to pet her head as she clings to my chest and shoulders. I rock slightly side-to-side with her, spinning the chair gently with my foot.

_Cut it away..._

"Go to sleep my dear..."

_She knows... cut it away..._

A minute or two passes as we sit in silence.

"I hate my parents," I hear her mumble sleepily. This pains me.

"Don't say that, dear one, they care for you. Darling Barbara, you don't know what not having parents can _do_ to... a person."

To my surprise, she is already asleep. Her shoulders rise and fall quietly. Her troubled tears have dried on the front of my pyjama shirt.

"A person," I whisper. "Like myself."

_Cut it away, she doesn't care, cut it away, she already knows, please, will you cut it away and stop fooling around, cut it away, she doesn't love you!_

...They are too convincing, too loud, too right... Forget being good. I can only be _naughty._ I laugh angrily at my foolish self, and a taught, melancholy smile grows on my cheeks.

_Cut it away._

Careful not to disturb my sleeping love, I reach for the drawer underneath the counter. I gently lift my red razor out with shaking hands. My skin is clammy with sweat. Very carefully, I lift dear Barbara up and make room for myself to stand. I lean her back down gingerly, so that the back of her head rests on the back of the chair and her tangled hair dangles toward the floor. I stand behind her. ...What am I doing?

_She doesn't love you._

This thought drills into my poor brain. I've made my decision.

_Finally._

I turn the razor on. The buzzing fills my head with relief and gladness. My darling does not wake, even when I lower the razor closer to her ear, she doesn't stir.

I am most careful at first. One long lock of soft hair drifts to the floor. Two. Three. My razor gets quicker. My grin stretches even wider with every new, gorgeous, shaved strip on her sweet head. My darling Barbara...

_Cutting cutting cutting cutting cutting..._

As I work, the darkness peers in through the glass doors. My mind is a flurry of glee and I almost chuckle at the pleasure, but I must not wake my dear lover. Inch after inch, strand after strand...

Exhilarating minutes pass, and I finish my work. My thumb slowly moves to press the switch, and once it does, the razor is still and silent in my hand. Finally, I am gazing upon the most beautiful bald scalp. 'What good work you did, Fred,' I tell myself, and quietly admire it. I look down; the soft blankets of hair draping the hard floor are cheerfully tickling my feet.

I slowly turn the chair around to marvel at Barbara's sweet, sleeping face. I lean down close to her. Bestowing a smiling kiss on her forehead, I stroke her rosy cheek with the back of my cold hand. I take her perfect head lovingly in the palm of my hand and gaze upon her beauty.

"You're most welcome, my dear girl... my sweet liar..." I speak softly to her.

With a flap of blonde eyelashes, her blue eyes open.


End file.
